


The Way of Harsh Truths

by gloriouswhisperstyphoon



Series: a truth that no one wants to hear [4]
Category: American Gods - Neil Gaiman, Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: American Gods Fusion, Does it count as Major Character Death if he gets better?, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-13 22:08:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15374394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloriouswhisperstyphoon/pseuds/gloriouswhisperstyphoon
Summary: Death is never quite as empty or as final as one might think.Or: Cassian learns a series of lessons that can never be unlearned on the Path of Harsh Truths and meets with a goddess who is doing her best to protect him.





	The Way of Harsh Truths

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pingou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pingou/gifts).



> Posted for Day 3 of Cassian Week: Collateral Damage.

Cassian walked down the lonely path, only the moon to keep him company and the memory of stardust in the velvet black sky.

If this was the afterlife, it wasn’t anything interesting, just a museum’s cheesy rendition of what a starless night would be.

He was looking at himself again, in his army uniform, watching the opium fields burning again in Mexico, hearing the shrieks of the animals as they _burned_. It hurt to see it again, hear the screams of those that tried to rush in to rescue their friends as they too burned. The sweet sickly smell of the diesel they had used filled his nostrils again and he nearly gagged at it.

Later, he knew, he would be helping them dig the bodies out and then watching the peasants growing opium all over again, to feed the insatiable American needs.

And then he was back in the sands of Afghanistan, his rifle a heavy weight against his shoulder as a head exploded in a spray of blood.

“Good shot,” his commander had said and he tried not to retch all over again, feeling the weight of the man’s life on his back.

He saw the child in the square again, wearing the vest as if it were a toy and waving his arms around and then suddenly the squad is shouting that the jammers have failed and that everybody needs to get back and he’s rushing in, because _dammit, sir, that’s a child there -_

And then everything becomes black and the coppery scent of blood and the brief flash of white behind his eyelids as it goes off and -

He saw himself in the desert, crying in front of Kay as he awkwardly tried to comfort him, his guilt a lead weight on his spine, crushing him into the ground.

Cassian doubled in on himself, catching his breath and then pulling himself straight, wondering if it would have been better to have just walked the path of soft lies. But his feet started moving of their own accord and he was travelling down the rock path again and -

His mother was dying in the hospital bed and he was all alone there again, clutching his copy of Narnia as he tried not to shy away from her and the smell of the hospital antiseptic that seemed to cling to her skin. He sees himself again, the chubby child, growing into the lanky teenager as he hunched himself deeper into the chair, trying to escape his mother’s death through the wardrobe.

Her hand was still outstretched and Cassian silently willed his child-self to take her hand for the last time, take her papery grey-ish skin between his own clumsy hands before he lost the chance forever, but he knew that it was pointless to shout or to protest the unfairness of life.

Cassian walked further down the path again, the way twisting and gnarled before him and he picked his way gingerly across the rocks.

He heard it before he saw it, his mother’s voice, an almost forgotten sound found only in his deepest memories.

It was followed by his own shouting.

_Who is my father? Why can’t you tell me about him._

_He’s dead, Cassian! Stop worrying about him!_

_Can I see a picture at least? Kes has a picture of his dad that he takes around every -_

_There’s no photos and you’ll stop this at once, Cassian!_

And then he saw her hand raise and then fall and he saw himself as a child, curling in on himself to try to blow the blow.

Cassian kept going and suddenly he was in the brilliant refracted garish glow of a disco ball, all the planets orbiting around him and the stardust that he could _almost_ touch in the dust motes, suspended in the light.

His mother was there, younger than he had ever seen her and she was dancing, in the arms of - and he recognised the man too, the red hair and the grim expression and the light reflecting off his glass eye.

 _Draven_.

He saw the sheen of tequila on her lips and the salt on the back of her hand - they’ve been drinking margaritas, but for now, they’re swaying together in the light, a lupine grace to Draven’s movements and the wolf-like grin on his face.

And they stumbled off the dance floor together and Cassian put his head in his hands and he almost sinks to the ground.

Would the path of soft lies have hurt this much?

Draven’s voice echoes in his mind. _It’s never as much as people think. That’s the heart of a good two-man con. Everyone only sees what they want to believe. Never what’s truly there._

But he had to keep going.

The moon still glowed gently above his head and he pulled himself to his feet, moving off down the path and he came to a fork, three paths, all leading off in different directions.

He could hear a woman’s voice in his head, her voice full of the weight and regret and loss of centuries.

_The middle path. Take the middle path._

The moon seemed to gleam a little brighter on that path after all, and he kept moving down it and then he’s moving down and down and -

The path was slippery now and he skidded down the path over the ice and he trusted in the light of the moon to guide him.

_What does he truly want though? What does he want to learn?_

Above him, the moon was glowing pink and then faded and he was surrounded by darkness. He kept moving onwards, stumbling in the dark with no guide for what seemed like forever and then he came out into a forest, no one there except the stars in the sky and the moon, a comforting guardian above him.

“Hello?” he called out. “Is anyone there?”

The soft pad of footsteps behind him seemed to echo on towards oblivion and he saw Jyn - no, this wasn’t Jyn, this was Zorya Polonuchnaya in all her ethereal glory, a crescent-shaped sickle held loosely in her right hand.

She smiled when she saw him, quickly looking down when she realised that it wasn’t being returned. “Don’t worry! This isn’t for you.”

Jyn laid it out on the ground at her feet before she took a seat on a log, patting the spot next to her.

“Where are we?” he asked.

She smiled and patted the seat and he sat down gingerly, wondering if this was another dream or not.

“It’s not a dream, Cassian. But it’s not real either.”

“Am I dead, then?”

Jyn shrugged. “You people always treat death as if it were a single line between black and white, but it’s more of a river.”

He nodded. “So I’m not technically dead then? Or I’m dead and I’m just waiting for oblivion?”

“You are whatever you decide you are,” she replied, her voice completely serene.

She sat there in silence for a long time before Cassian spoke again.

“Why are you here?”

Jyn gave him a sad little smile. “I tried to protect you back in Chicago. It didn’t work as much as I wanted. I thought you’d want a little comfort while we wait.”

“Wait for what?”

She looked up at the night sky, her eyes full of longing. “Your friends are coming for you. They’re going to bring you back.”

He sat bolt upright. “But it was all over for me. I died, end of story.”

“There’s no such thing like the end of the story. It always just goes on and on, without end. Did you learn anything back there?”

He let out a deep exhale and watched the twinkle of the skies above him. “Nothing ever is what it seems.”

She nodded. “You’re finally learning.”

“Did you know that Draven was my father?”

She was silent for a long time. “Midnight is the best time for fortune telling, as my sister used to say. I suspected as much.”

He bit his tongue for a moment, taking it all in. “Where are we then?”

“You would call it Poland. But this is my home.”

“Your home?”

Jyn gestured to the forest around them. “This is where they used to hold my rites in the old country before I was brought to America.”

He could see it in the back of his mind, the women with their hair flowing behind them, their skirts whirling in the inky darkness of the night and the sickles descending on the animal at the heart of their wild circle.

“So what happens now? Am I dead, alive, something in between?”

Her answer was simple. “Yes.”

“What sort of answer is that?”

She let out a laugh. “A true one. In all fairness, I brought you here to tell you something.”

He raised a single brow and she kept going.

“This is a bad land for gods. You’ve seen this for yourself already. Look at the old gods - all desperately trying to hold on to a shred of the belief that we once commanded. And for what? A chance to have a little more time here?”

“You don’t want to be around anymore?”

She snorted. “I’ve walked this earth for longer than you can imagine. I’ve seen humanity in all its grandeur and all its horror. I don’t need to see any more.”

He touched a toe to the blade of her sickle. “You might not want any more of this, but the other gods are going to war around us.”

Above their heads, a star started to fall, trailing a brilliant tail of white fire.

Jyn touched a gentle finger to the earth beneath her bare feet, her toes burying themselves deep in the rich loam.

“You see this soil? This is good growing soil for gods. It’s not the same as in America. There’s no good growing land for gods there.”

“Gods might not grow well in America,” he said, remembering everything from _before_. “But they’re going to war.”

Her laugh had absolutely no humour in it and the moon’s glow seemed to dim slightly.

“It’s not a war, Cassian.”

“Then what is it?”

She cocked her chin up at the moon, wreathed with rings of moonbows in all its beauty. “Nothing is ever quite as it seems. It’s not a war.”

_That’s the heart of a good two-man con. Everyone only sees what they want to believe._

“It’s not a war at all, isn’t it,” he said. “It’s a two man con.”

Jyn nodded. “You got it after a while. It’s going to be a bloodbath of gods out there.”

He cast a meaningful glance at her sickle.

“You’re not going to help tell them about it?”

A shake of her head. “I don’t get involved with these sorts of fights.”

His voice grew angry. “Why don’t you? If both sides lose, you’ll be gone as well.”

She shrugged. “I’ve been here for too long, Cassian. And besides, I don’t have the power left to make it beyond here.”

“So you can stand to watch your own people be slaughtered? Saw is there in the armies! What would your sisters be doing?”

“My sisters are dead,” her voice was absolutely cold and her hand twitched towards her sickle. “And besides, I don’t have the power to go backstage for as long as you’d need me to.”

“Backstage?”

“Where did you think a group of gods would be going to war? They’re all fighting _backstage_. In the minds of men, where they have always been.”

“How can I get there?”

She laughed. “You’ve always been able to do that, Cassian. You have a power all of your own, beyond what Draven ever managed to think.”

His mind flashed. _The snowstorm in Chicago._ That had been him.

“Why won’t you fight?”

The smile fled from her face. “I’m not fighting in this pointless war, Cassian. Who wins or who loses doesn’t matter if you don’t bother with more than just survival.”

“You’re a goddess! You deserve more than just survival!”

There was no response.

He decided to give it one last go. “If I could give you a sacrifice, would you be able to fight alongside us?”

She sighed and tapped her bare foot on the ground.

Jyn gave a quick sharp nod. 

She looked up at the skies one last time before she pulled herself to her feet, taking her sickle with its wickedly sharp blade in hand.

“The exit’s there, Cassian.”

He cast a wistful look back at the little clearing, the fresh earth and the feeling of _life_ filling his entire soul.

“I wish I could stay here. This seems like a good place.”

She touched his arm gently, a feather-light brush against his bare skin. “There’s a lot of good places. But something to remember, Cassian. Gods might die when they’re forgotten, but the land is always there. The good places and the bad. And the moon will always be there with you, no matter what happens to me.”

His foot crossed the border and he felt something _pulling_ at him. He was alone in the darkness and Jyn was nowhere to be found, but the darkness grew brighter and brighter until it felt like he was standing in the sun.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday Jeanne! I'm sorry that you're confused about the strange stuff that I keep insisting on writing, and I'm sorry that the original idea that I had for you didn't work out, but your artwork is beautiful and you are wonderful and amazing. 
> 
> Thanks so much to melanoradrood for making me write this.


End file.
